Mistborn: Secret History (Mistborn, #3.5)(21)

“Hey,” Nazh said, eyes narrowing at the knife. He looked at his belt, and the empty sheath. “Hey!”

“Unraveling,” Khriss said. “So a slow death. Ati doesn’t know how to Splinter another Shard? Or he hasn’t the strength? Hmm . . .”

“Ati?” Kelsier asked. “Preservation mentioned that name too.”

Khriss pointed at the sky with one finger while she sipped at her drink. “That’s him. What he’s become, at least.”

“And . . . what is a Shard?” Kelsier asked.

“Are you a scholar, Mr. Survivor?”

“No,” he said. “But I’ve killed a few.”

“Cute. Well, you’ve stumbled into something far, far bigger than you, your politics, or your little planet.”

“Bigger than you can handle, Survivor,” Nazh said, swiping back his knife as Kelsier balanced it on his finger. “You should just bow out now.”

“Nazh does have a point,” Khriss said. “Your questions are dangerous. Once you step behind the curtain and see the actors as the people they are, it becomes harder to pretend the play is real.”

“I . . .” Kelsier leaned forward, clasping his hands before him. Hell . . . that fire was warm, but it didn’t seem to be burning anything. He stared at the flames and swallowed. “I woke up from death after having, deep down, expected there to be no afterlife. I found that God was real, but that he was dying. I need answers. Please.”

“Curious,” she said.

He looked up, frowning.

“I have heard many stories of you, Survivor,” she said. “They often laud your many admirable qualities. Sincerity is never one of those.”

“I can steal something else from your manservant,” Kelsier said, “if it will make you feel more comfortable that I am what you expected.”

“You can try,” Nazh said, walking around the fire, folding his arms and obviously trying to look intimidating.

“The Shards,” Khriss said, drawing Kelsier’s attention, “are not God, but they are pieces of God. Ruin, Preservation, Autonomy, Cultivation, Devotion . . . There are sixteen of them.”

“Sixteen,” Kelsier breathed. “There are fourteen more of these things running around?”

“The rest are on other planets.”

“Other . . .” Kelsier blinked. “Other planets.”

“Ah, see,” Nazh said. “You’ve broken him already, Khriss.”

“Other planets,” she repeated gently. “Yes, there are dozens of them. Many are inhabited by people much like you or me. There is an original, shrouded and hidden somewhere in the cosmere. I’ve yet to find it, but I have found stories.

“Anyway, there was a God. Adonalsium. I don’t know if it was a force or a being, though I suspect the latter. Sixteen people, together, killed Adonalsium, ripping it apart and dividing its essence between them, becoming the first who Ascended.”

“Who were they?” Kelsier said, trying to make sense of this.

“A diverse group,” she said. “With equally diverse motives. Some wished for the power; others saw killing Adonalsium as the only good option left to them. Together they murdered a deity, and became divine themselves.” She smiled in a kindly way, as if to prepare him for what came next. “Two of those created this planet, Survivor, including the people on it.”

“So . . . my world, and everyone I know,” Kelsier said, “is the creation of a pair of . . . half gods?”

“More like fractional gods,” Nazh said. “And ones with no particular qualifications for deityhood, other than being conniving enough to murder the guy who had the job before.”

“Oh, hell . . .” Kelsier breathed. “No wonder we’re all so bloody messed up.”

“Actually,” Khriss noted, “people are generally like that, no matter who made them. If it’s any consolation, Adonalsium originally created the first humans, therefore your gods had a pattern to use.”

“So we’re copies of a flawed original,” Kelsier said. “Not terribly comforting.” He looked upward. “And that thing? It used to be human?”

“The power . . . distorts,” Khriss said. “There’s a person in that somewhere, directing it. Or perhaps just riding it at this point.”

Kelsier remembered the puppet Ruin had presented, the shape of a man. Now basically a shell filled with a terrible power. “So what happens if one of these things . . . dies?”

“I’m very curious to see,” Khriss said. “I’ve never viewed it in person, and the past deaths were different. They were each a single, stunning event, the god’s power shattered and dispersed. This is more like a strangulation, while those were like a beheading. This should be very instructive.”

“Unless I stop it,” Kelsier said.

She smiled at him.

“Don’t be patronizing,” Kelsier snapped, standing up, the stool falling down behind him. “I am going to stop it.”

“This world is winding down, Survivor,” Khriss said. “It is a true shame, but I know of no way to save it. I came with the hopes that I might be able to help, but I can’t even reach the Physical Realm here any longer.”